


Catch the Sun

by SnowLotus



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, F/F, Fluff, Tryndamere isn't an abusive shit, mindgames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 02:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14558964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowLotus/pseuds/SnowLotus
Summary: Katarina knows she's a monster in everyone's eyes. Ashe is the light that pulls her from the darkness.





	Catch the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I did try to do something I'm not familiar with, that is dabble with past/present tense so I apologize profusely if it gets confusing.

"I can't believe it." Ashe stammers. The tips of her fingers are drenched in blood and her face is white as snow. There are bodies littered around them, all painting the landscape red. Large gashes decorate the man she once called her loyal guardian, her _friend._ A youth of talent and eagerness to match, to serve the tribe with vigor. His pale eyes were blown wide, dull and lifeless. Ashe continues to march through the massacre. She can’t feel the cold but there’s a chill in her bones. She is aware of the Noxian’s presence behind her, following like a guilty puppy but _gods_ , only an animal could do this.

She whirls around and her cloak whips sharply against her legs. “Did you really kill them?”

Katarina has the nerve to look ashamed. But, as that was the only evidence of innocence, Ashe does not concern herself with appearances. Faster than lightning, she surges forth and grabs the assassin’s collar. She drags her rough enough to choke; close enough to kiss but she was far too desperate. “ _Did you kill them_?” She hisses; her voice is venom. It was clear her Royal Majesty desired an answer, Katarina thinks. Her eyes flicker across the strain in Ashe’s jawline and trace the stark tendons of her neck. She ponders on her reply and she ponders tearing away. She makes up her mind in a split second. She spits in Ashe’s face and conjures up a malicious smile.

“I loved every _minute_ of it.”

The assassin finds herself hurled into the frost. She grunts softly when her shoulder hits the hard ice. At face-value, she maintains the shit-eating grin and turns in the snow. The archer points an arrow between her eyes, the fierce tip glowing cold and blue. Katarina knows better than to press her flesh against true ice but she comes as close as she dares, closer than Ashe expects. Her bow is steady as are the fingers pulling the string taut, ready to unleash at any moment and without hesitation. But tears streak down her cheeks and Katarina has to viciously stomp down the surge of guilt rising through her ribs.

She snarls. “ _Do it_ . I killed your people.” She watches closely as the arrow tip jerks softly. “I killed your _friends_ . I watched as they gargled on their own blood, _begging_ for mercy.” Katarina licks her dry lips, running her tongue across the cracks. It tastes like dry iron. “I felt _nothing_.” Suddenly, she moves as if to impale herself onto the arrow only for Ashe to pull away with a sharp gasp. Her grip loosens in a moment of vulnerability and that’s all Katarina needs. She draws a dagger from her belt and throws herself at the archer and tackles them both into the snow.

A flurry of white explodes between the two as they wrestle and struggle against each other but Katarina has always, _always_ been stronger and before long, the white dust has settled and she’s straddling the archer’s waist. She has the sharp edge of her knife pressed against Ashe’s pale throat and her bow was nowhere to be found. The Queen inhales sharply. The steel is cold on her flesh but it’s not nearly as biting as the green eyes boring into her. There was something strange in the way the edge of the knife doesn’t quite cut into her skin, strange in the way Katarina’s grip on her wrist is just loose enough that it wouldn’t leave a bruise.

“Kat--”

 “Shut _up_!”

Katarina presses closer, close enough that had the angle been right, the knife would have drawn a thin line of blood. Ashe thinks that’s strange too but she doesn’t say another word. The assassin was _angry_ . “Why didn’t you do it!?” She snaps, her grip tightening on the leather-wrapped hilt of her weapon. “I _killed_ your people! Slaughtered them like _pigs_ ! Yet you have no strength to avenge them!?” Katarina presses in and this time a sliver of crimson appears beneath the blade. The archer gasps softly but Katarina doesn’t flinch. The sight should have shocked her but she was _furious_ . She spits into the snow beside Ashe’s head. “You’re _pathetic_.”

Ashe hears the poison bleeding into every word and beneath the venom, the softest cry for help and forgiveness. She doesn’t know the truth but she knows the truth is not as the redhead claims. Her neck stings from the shallow cut but it was nothing to the pain she felt when she saw Katarina standing amongst the lifeless bodies of her comrades. The hollow drum of her heart beating in her ears; the way her heart clenched, she thought a great hand had burst from the snow and punched its way through her chest. It was nothing.

She lifts her hand and places it against Katarina’s cheek. She knows that one wrong move would see her throat slit. She also knows that Katarina would never harm her. Ashe doubted her only for a moment, she had let her emotions get the better of her but now with the assassin on top of her, she knew better.

Her cold hands move against the trembling heat of the assassin’s cheek and she glimpses a great amount of grief locked behind a shield of green. A brief wave of desperation surfaces before Ashe’s hand is slapped away.

“I could kill you right now.” Katarina whispers.

“I deserve it.” Ashe merely smiles, blinking through her own tears. That’s strange, when did she start to cry? “For being weak. For not protecting my people. I deserve it.” She closes her eyes and holds her breath.

 

* * *

 

“Come _on_ ,” Ashe joked as she jostled the assassin’s arm playfully. “It’s a lot of fun, trust me.” The Winter Solstice was rapidly approaching and if there is one thing the Avarosans celebrated heartily, it would be the beginning of the new season. With a short day and long night ahead, that meant festivities could last a lot later. Blue and purple lanterns were already being strung up by silkworm threads and snow shoveled from the paths. Color was finally blooming into their mundane routine.

Katarina watched everything with wary, curious eyes but she paid particular interest to the ice sculptures being shaped and formed into doves and wolves and one with a strange likeness to the Queen striding next to her. “It’s Avarosa,” Ashe scolded when Katarina pointed out such uncanny resemblance with a sly comment. They scour the makeshift stalls and Ashe stopped once or twice to chat with a local vendor. The second they do, Katarina is immediately uneasy. Maybe it’s because she caught the stares and glares from all around. Her red hair amongst the blondes and browns made her stand out and the scar slashed down her eye betrays her identity so obviously as the famed Sinister Blade of Noxus.

To an assassin, such popularity should have been repulsive but the warmth by her side stopped her from fleeing the scene. Ashe whispered an apology in her ear and laced their arms together gently, leading her away from the masses. The archer remained jovial and waved at anyone who waved first but she was determined not to take any more detours until they find someplace less crowded. Katarina was immensely thankful for that. It was bad enough being forced into public but locking arms with the Queen of Freljord simply invited controversial murmurs and mutters.

Staring out the window and unknown to the assassin, the King’s eyes did not have to travel far to find the pair. It shouldn’t have been surprising; Tryndamere had long since given up on the physical intimacies of their marriage. It was purely political and despite his interest in the Frost Queen’s beauty and keen mind, she had made it clear that their marriage would always be simple it: political. Barbaric as he was, he respected his wife’s wishes. Even so, he could not suppress the soft ache spiraling up his chest. He had grown to love and respect the archer and wished her nothing but happiness in her future.

But… a _Noxian_ and a famed _assassin_ no less? The King could only roll his eyes in soft amusement. Leave it to his wife to pick the most controversial partner she could have chosen.

 

* * *

 

The conspirators moved quietly and without warning.

They were at a shooting range and Ashe was grateful that the only company she had was the woman by her side. The archer was practicing her shots - no doubt in an attempt to impress the assassin, who perked up every time an arrow hit the bullseye (which was all of them). She kicked it up a notch by throwing her audience-of-one a quick wink before shooting three arrows in quick succession. The first arrow hit the bullseye with ease, followed by the second arrow splitting the first right down the middle before the third did the same.

“Damn…” Katarina murmured as Ashe grinned proudly. “Too bad my daggers aren’t as pliable.”

That was enough to have the archer deflate a little, frowning. “Fine,” Ashe took the comment as a challenge and this time, without flourish, let loose another three arrows. This time all three occupied the bullseye, crowded but intact.

“Much better,” Katarina said with smug satisfaction.

Ashe only rolled her eyes, but before she could think of something witty in response, an arrow thudded to the ground between them.

Katarina knew what it was in an instant: a hextech bomb attached to the shaft was already fizzling dangerously close to the end. Katarina reached an arm out to do something, _anything_ , but it was too late. Ashe’s eyes widened briefly before the bomb went off. The explosion knocked the assassin back and slammed Ashe into the stone ball behind her, rendering the archer unconscious. All she could hear was high-pitched ringing and when she opened her eyes, everything was hazy and misty though she realized soon enough that it had been an explosive laced with smoke bombs.

Katarina managed to stagger to her feet, her twin daggers already held tight in her hands. It was a habit hard to break. She took one look at Ashe and at the thin river of blood running down her temple. It was enough to have the assassin snarling. She could sense two hiding in the fog and a third just above her. Her daggers came up into a cross guard as her attacker struck straight down with a blunt sword, the steel ringing loud against each other. Before Katarina could counter, her opponent used the momentum to flip off and land smoothly on her feet, a few paces away from the assassin. She was close enough for Katarina to make out the tell-tale symbol of peace on her breastplate: the Avarosan sigil.

She was caught off guard, her mind reeling at all the implications, but instinct took over when she was charged at. Her daggers came up as she used her shunpo to reappear right behind the Avarosan’s back. She did not hesitate to plunge her blade into her foe’s throat. The woman crumpled in an instant, staining the snow dark. Without wasting another thought on the fallen traitor, she needed to find the archer, needed to know that she was _safe_.

“Ashe!” Katarina yelled through the thick mist, praying that the archer was conscious. So great was her worry, she did not notice the burly arm roping around her neck until it was too late. She grunted as she was dragged backward immediately, despite her best efforts to remain grounded. She gagged and gasped for air, her legs kicking back fruitlessly. She still had her daggers and her head cleared just enough for her to bring her blades up to stab the man’s arm repeatedly. Her assailant growled in pain but did not let go. Splatters of his blood blossomed in the snow. She saw a third member approaching the still prone figure of the Frost Archer, a dangerous gleam shining through the fog.

Something inside her snapped. She lifted her leg and pulled daggers coated in paralysing poison from the belt around her thigh, stabbing the man in the arm, injecting him with fatal doses of Kumungu poison. The effect was immediate. The second the brute’s grip loosened, Katarina was out, slipping out of his chokehold smoothly. A swift kick to his crotch would have him down for a while, she thought with satisfaction before racing toward the unconscious archer and her attacker. The three daggers she threw in front of the would-be assassin was just enough to startle her, who jumped back warily. Katarina’s hair was wild around her face, her pupils blown wide; a fierce snarl crinkled the scar when she stood protectively in front of the archer.

“Figures a tribe preaching peace and love all the damn time would have a couple of traitors squirming around,” she spat. A globule of blood went with it. “Typical.” Katarina was not without her injuries though she did well enough to hide them. Her ears were still ringing and her throat ached, she was finding it difficult to breathe. Her ribs felt like they had been kicked over and over again but the adrenaline pumping through her blood kept her standing.

The traitor shrugged, pulling out a pair of twin daggers. “The Avarosans have proven themselves to be weak time and time again. Sejuani and Lissandra grow their armies every day and what do the nomads do?” She smiles cruelly. “Their so-called King and Queen continue to crow for peace. They maintain a small battle-force in order to further permeate the idea of peace. To the rest of Freljord, that means Rakelstake and the Avarosans are ripe for the taking.” She lifted her blades. “Starting with the Frost Archer herself.”

Katarina did not care about politics. Half of those words flashed through her head, fuelling her anger like nothing else. Weak? Once upon a time, she would have called Ashe weak. She would have called her too sympathetic; too optimistic and hopeful; that she was a coward because she refused to fight. But weeks spent with the archer proved otherwise. Every night she would bid the assassin a good night’s sleep and without fail, Katarina would note the heavy bags beneath her sad gaze. She reassured Katarina that her people were loyal and faithful to the tribe and to their cause. She would have given her life for her people, just as she believed they would do for her.

It was not when she confronted the archer did she truly understand the immense burden placed upon the Queen’s shoulders and the great trust she had for her people was her drive. All her life, Katarina was nothing more but a tool, a tool to dispatch her enemies but Ashe, with her soothing words and kindness, saw Katarina as a kindred spirit. She never pried into the assassin’s past, and she never asked for more, only that Katarina remain by her side. Katarina, for all her cynicism and paranoia, had no qualms in granting her request.

She would stick to her promise. “You’ll have to get through me first,” she growled, tugging on the chain of daggers looped around her belt. The traitor shrugged again. Then, with blinding speed, thrust forward with her weapon. Katarina barely dodged the attack though she heard the sharp steel sing across her cheek. Her opponent was an assassin as well, the redhead realized. It was all about who would be more cunning and who could be more swift. She let herself smile. This was something she was _very_ good at. When the traitor made her next move, Katarina was prepared. A dagger thudded heavy in the snow and she took a deep breath. As soon as the woman was in her reach, she disappeared almost instantly and emerged behind the traitor’s back, completely unaware as the Noxian plunged a dagger into her neck. Blood spurted everywhere, splattering the assassin’s impassive face and drenching her hand in blood.

They fell onto the snow together with a heavy thud. Katarina pulled her weapon out with a sickly, wet pop. There was crimson everywhere, on her and on the ground. She inhaled deeply, willing her heart to slow down and to catch her bearings. She was caught completely off guard by the sharp gasp behind her. She turned, forgetting the blood on her face and on her hands.

“Ashe--”

“I can’t believe it.”

Katarina felt her blood run cold in an instant, as cold as the ice soaking through her leather pants. She remembered what she looked like. Blood soaked and manic, her eyes wild as they always were after a kill. She could not look at Ashe. Not yet.

 _I can’t believe it_.

It was only four words but they were filled with disbelief, shock, and disappointment and it was more than Katarina could bear. Ashe couldn’t believe it because she thought Katarina wasn’t an assassin that murdered in cold blood? The archer knew who she was… _what_ she was.

She was there to complete her mission, to keep the Queen safe during the darkest night of the year, and that was all she was. Beyond that, she expected nothing more, nothing less. Her whole life she had been treated the way a monster should be treated. With reverence, with fear, and with disgust. Her daggers were her scepter and she commanded the sweat and tears of anyone she passed. Yet, Ashe had greeted her with open arms. Open enough that Katarina could have sliced them off within a blink of an eye. Instead, she took the Queen’s hand into a firm shake. There was respect in the archer’s eyes that was not mirrored in her jaded greens.

The assassin shadowed the archer as was her duty, constantly hidden in the background as Ashe chatted amicably to a soldier or to her wary husband. Only occasionally did the Queen glance toward her back before Katarina retreated behind a wall or disappear conveniently. The smirk Katarina caught from time to time did not go unnoticed even as Ashe continued to converse as if nothing was amiss.

She should have been just a shadow and yet, she was pulled into the light by a woman whose hand always felt cold but made her warm with every touch. She insisted that Katarina accompany her to the markets, for her protection of course. Then it was to the hot springs on the outskirts of Rakelstake to protect her from leering eyes, then to the forests beyond to practice. Ashe with her bow and her precision always left Katarina in awe but likewise, the speed in which Katarina was able to move and strike left the archer absolutely breathless.

Katarina remembered the warmth wrapping around her waist; pointing at the bright sky and laughing at the strangely shaped stars. She remembered the softness of the archer’s lips, uncertain and chaste beneath an orange sunset and the pink flush on both their faces. She almost felt as if she _belonged_ . That she was more than just a tool, more than just a monster. She was beginning to feel _human_ again. A lingering touch here, a smile there. Her heart was a forge hammering hope into something tangible, something _real_.

But the echoing accusation continued: _I can’t believe it._

Because in the end, that was all she was. A body bag, a bodyguard. Another murderer; a bloodthirsty assassin willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. _“That’s who I am, that’s all I’ll ever be.”_ Katarina thought, her bitterness overtaking the light in her heart. Dispatching the Queen’s friends left and right, shredding her tribe to pieces. That was who she was. A merciless bloodletter without a soul, without sympathy and without remorse. Her days in the sun was over. She felt the thin tendrils of apathy and ache spread through her even if her lingering thoughts was on Ashe’s words.

_“I can’t believe it.”_

And who would she believe more? The word of an assassin or the corpses of her friends?

 

* * *

 

The last thing Ashe remembered was a dagger and a bomb before the searing pain kicked in. Even as she was fading in and out of consciousness, all she could think about was that Katarina had similar daggers in her possession and that  _she would never_ before her world was dark for the briefest of moments. She struggled to maintain consciousness, her mind hazy and confused and  _god_ , it was painful.

Through unfocused, blurry eyes drenched in blood and sweat, she could see her people fighting Katarina -- was she really a traitor? The images flashed in front of her, too fast to fully comprehend but she could see her second-in-command lying motionless in the snow, a pool of blood already staining sheets of white. Another flash, a glimpse of Katarina with her weapon buried deep in Silari's neck. She opened her mouth to scream, to beg, but all she could manage was a hoarse choke, the shock was too much and she passed out with her final thoughts:

_This wasn't... this wasn't real..._

 

* * *

 

“ _Kill me_.”

Katarina fights back the tears and it physically hurts. She knows Ashe feels guilty. She knows Ashe would place the blame on herself over and over again, because that was the kind of person she was. If she wasn’t so _weak_ , if she wasn’t so damn _oblivious_ , then maybe she would have noticed the midnight muttering in the pub, the suspicious looks cast her way. Maybe if she didn’t put so much trust and hope in her people, she might have seen the bigger picture. But what hurts the most was that Ashe saw her as a murderer. Yet, the archer does not move, she does not retaliate. Her beautiful face is peaceful, her lips catching cold air and releasing them as colder breaths steadily. Her chest rises and falls evenly. She is ready for death.

“Why…” Katarina’s daggers fall to the snow when she grabs the archer’s face. “Why are you so willing to _die_ for them?” She’s frantic, she’s full of questions, she’s furious and she’s helpless. “They _betrayed_ you. They betrayed your _purpose_.” Her eyes squeeze shut, frustrated and confused.

“I know.”

Her heart skips a beat. Then It skips another. Katarina reels in shock. “When?”

Ashe is solemn. Her crystal blue glaze locks the assassin in place with its intensity. This time when she reaches her hand up, Katarina lets it stay on her cheek. “Because you didn’t kill me. I know you didn’t kill those people out of cold blood.” She smiles. “If you were here for them, then you were here for me.” Ashe runs a calloused finger over Katarina’s chapped lips. The touch has the assassin shuddering. “What I wanted to know was why you’re so _willing_ to throw your life away.” Her touch strays upward and traces the jagged scar over Katarina’s eye. “I could have killed you and you looked like you would be all the happier for it.” Ashe leans upward, into Katarina’s slack touch, close enough to kiss.

“Why?” Ashe whispers, her voice as light as snow.

“Because…” Katarina stammers, her breath heavy at the close proximity; at the implications; at her fear. “I… you care for your people and you trusted them.” Ashe is too close and her eyes shine with sympathy and understanding. It’s almost too much to bear. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Knowing that they betrayed you, that would have _killed_ you. I’m just…” Another swallow. “I’m just a tool. Nobody would care if I went missing or if I died--”

It was more than that but she could say no more. She _couldn’t_. How was she going to explain the indomitable weight that had crushed her when Ashe spoke as if it were easier to believe Katarina had become the monster she was promised to be, rather than the woman she promised the archer she would be?

Ashe was inches away now and Katarina could feel her words tingling against her lips.

“I do.” Ashe whispers, pressing her lips against Katarina’s softly and the chaste kiss _burns_. "I care."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for a follow up!


End file.
